


A Twisted Tale

by Evaunit02mark1



Category: Overlord (Triumph Video Games)
Genre: (For Evil reasons), (May be Puppies at some point), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Comedy, Dark Fantasy, It's Overlord what did you expect?, Kinda, Multi, Not Really?, Puppies?, Self-Insert, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-23 18:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaunit02mark1/pseuds/Evaunit02mark1
Summary: Broken at birth, will they become a slave, or the slaver? Will they be the puppet or the master? Perhaps they will become the end of all things, or possibly even their salvation.
Evil always finds a way, even if it's not the way anyone ever expected.
At least Gnarl will get something interesting to see.





	1. Prolouge

How long had it been since he was sent hurling into this infernal pit?

He didn’t know. There was no sun or moon here, no stars or seasons. Only the darkness, only the rot, only the screaming of the wretched filth that he was forced to share this prison with.

That _Slattern Whore_ , that **Obese Slug** , how dare she do this. He was a God among _Gods_ , Evil incarnate. His name was the end of days, his voice was the herald of calamity, his mere presence the concentrated despair of a billion screaming souls boiling eternally in his gullet.

But that was then, now, now he was nothing.

No, he was worse than nothing, he was something that remembered what being something _meant._ His history, his accomplishments, his worshipers, all taken from him. There was nothing now, nothing but his cries of anguish and the small satisfaction that torturing the scraps of souls thrown down here by the Gods on high granted him.

Ah the Gods, his once companions and co-workers, where were they now? Bowing, scraping to the fat sack of pus that was once his wife. Worst still were his subordinates, his allies, they who willingly betrayed him in the hope of usurping his position.

Who told her? Was it Orisel with his thousand eyes, or maybe Barrati with her blood stained fangs. Did Slintek slither his coils up from his swamp to whisper in her ear, or did his wretch of a sister Nultik chatter like the little rat she was?

A thousand suspects, a thousand betrayers, and all of them _fools._

They thought to take his place, to rule over his kingdom when she turned her anger upon him and raised her armies to strike him low. No doubt even among her own camp there were plotters ready and willing to make the _great sacrifice_ of taking her place as the paragon of virtue should she fail. Vermin all of them, never even coming close to understanding the true Divinity that he and that fat slug shared even now.

Even here, even cast low and tortured for all eternity with the memory of what he lost, he still had Dominion over all evil. This wretched torture chamber was crafted by his hands, his will, and though he must suffer like all others who reside in this hell he was not without power. He made the locks, he made the key, and he even forged the chains with his own two hands. 

This prison may be punishment from her, but it was _he_ who knew every crack and crevice within its foundations. It was he who knew every route and every bolt hole, every doorway and every locked gate. But the bitch would know that of course, would plot and scheme and lay her own traps, just to catch him again, just to get the satisfaction of denying him freedom.

More fool her.

He was evil, he was destruction, and more importantly, he was _patient._ Evil, true evil, was never rushed, was never an act of passion. It was the careful plotting of days, the secret longing of years, that silent whisper in the darkness that seduced and cajoled a hundred fools to their damnation. And he was master of every trick and trade of that playbook.

In the darkest portion of the Abyss, in that secret place that no one, not even his beloved wife, knew about, there was a crack. Small, barely the length of a strand of hair and just as thick, it glowed with an eldritch light that defied any description. It was a break in the mold, a crack in the very bedrock of creation, a window into nothingness.

His ace in the hole.

For a thousand years he raged, for a thousand years he plotted. Armies were raised from the damned and sent to the surface, whispers of his broken evil power sent into the minds of mortals in the hope of raising a champion, even simply bashing his form against the bonds of this realm, all were tried with reckless desperation. Every motion, every action, every failure, all building up to this moment.

His triumph.

Even now the bloated cow was no doubt sitting on her throne, feasting upon the myriad pleasures of paradise. She would be content, prideful, sure of her superiority. She would think him beaten, broken, silently plotting his next failure of a plan, or getting ready to start another attempt at the surface world, ‘her’ surface world. What the bitch didn’t plan on was him digging deeper.

With the care of an artisan and the patience of a master craftsman, he prodded the small tear. Slowly, ever so slowly, he eased it open, allowing more of the broken eldritch glow to permeate the darkness around him. When it was the size of his smallest finger he stopped, not daring to make it any larger. If he was careless he would destroy not only the abyss but all of creation, along with his magnificent self. 

If he was a more spiteful bastard he might have gone through with it, might have torn down everything if only to have that one moment of pleasure, that one moment before oblivion when he would know that all that she created would die with him, but he didn’t. Such a death was unsatisfying for him, only seeing her broken and groveling before him, only seeing all she loved and protected perverted to serve his whims, would be enough.

Slowly he inserts his finger into the swirling, twisting, fractally breaking surface of the opening. Even reinforced with the strongest spells he could muster he could still feel the sheer wrongness from the other realm boiling away at his flesh. It didn’t have to last for very long though, for he already got what he needed.

Like a fishermen reeling in his catch he pulls his finger from the portal, something twisted and glowing attached to its claw. A soul, but not just any soul, one born from beyond the realms of this world. Where it came from he did not know, nor did he care, all that mattered was that it was here, and it was his.

Gripping it fully in one hand he examined his prize. There were memories here, feelings as well, even an awareness of what was happening, even if it was muted. The alien thing wiggled like the worm it resembled, trying to free itself from his grip. Not that it would ever succeed.

With a spell the prisoner began his assault, stripping the soul of everything he didn’t need from it. As he began his work the thing began to scream, to wail in torment like so many other souls trapped in this pit. Alien words fled from it, no doubt pleas of mercy, and the thought brought a smile to the old god’s face.

The spells became stronger, and so to did the screaming. Like flesh scraped away from bone it’s memories were torn from it, motes of light falling to the ground like wood-chips. Soon any semblance of rational thought was also taken, the thing reduced to wailing and howling with wordless abandon.

Even that was taken before long, the soul shrinking smaller and smaller with each spell, going from the size of a worm to the size of a small stone. Feelings were all that were left, feelings of rage, of sadness, of madness, for the old god left the smallest shreds of what the creature was, like the tatters of a defeated kingdom’s flag fluttering in the breeze. This too he tortured, more and more, until the rock became a pebble, until the pebble became a speck.

This, this is what he wanted, what he needed. So small, so unassuming, so hard to detect until it was too late. The perfect poison, the ultimate corruption, the birth of a new evil. His greatest creation, and when his plan succeeds, his salvation.

Bringing his palm up to his mouth he blows, the spell flying from his lips pushing the small speck of blood red dust up into the swirling air. Soon it flows higher and higher, aiming for the small portal he had leading to the surface. From there the speck would flow upon the mana of the world, listless and unassuming, until a new life was procreated somewhere nearby.

From there it would flow down with the mana into the soul, its mystical weight guaranteeing it would land in the soul of one of the more magical races. Then it would sink into its core, becoming one with the new life, a small imperfection, a simple seed planted in fertile soil. It would sit silent for years, slowly growing in its shell of light magic.

Before long it would become the perfect sleeper agent, a creature subservient to his will, coated in the rancid light of the goddess herself.

In the Abyss there is only the screaming of the damned, the howl of the Wraiths, and the crackling of flame, but if one traveled to that most secret chamber, if one reached the bottom of all creation, if one stood so close to the god’s mouth that they could smell his fetid breath, they would hear one small chuckle.

Just as planned.


	2. A Beginning

The sky was a clear cloudless blue, the empty expanse seeming to go on forever. Below it, bathed in the golden light of the unblocked sun, lay a sea of emerald leaves swaying gently in the breeze. Nestled in that sea, hidden among the limbs of a mighty oak, was a small elven child resting his head along the bark of a branch.

At the age of twelve the moniker of child was tenuous at best, but he had not yet taken that last tumultuous step into puberty. Flaxen hair lined his shoulders, strands of it falling from the sides of his head to sway in the gentle breeze playing among the boughs he decided to hide in. Pale skinned hands gripped the branch a little tighter and the boy let loose a contented sigh. Up here away from everyone, with nothing but the quiet busyness of nature and the sound of rushing wind he was at peace.

Of course it wouldn’t last.

_ I do not wish to cause offense sister, but are you sure you saw him come this way? _

The lad’s ears shoot up like those of a startled rabbit at the non-sound while the rest of his body locks in place. The telepathy the elf below him was using was unfocused, wild, no doubt the sending of a fellow child. Its response was just as unfocused, if a touch more refined and less difficult on the mental senses.

_ Fear not brother, no offense was taken. Besides I am quite sure I saw him leave the academy in this direction. Even if he somehow evaded us our teacher would not send us on a blind errand. _

_ My worries are abated dear sister, but if he is not here? _

_ Then we continue looking as our duty requires. _

Scowling the boy tightens his grip and scrunches up to make himself smaller and harder to see. If the two elves below him noticed the movement they gave no sign, walking along and around the many trees that made up this particular grove. With care he tilts his head slowly to look down so he can get a look at his would be hunters.

One was slender by even elven standards, standing a foot shorter than her companion. With hair far paler than his own and with a tunic far more intricately detailed she was the picture of what a ‘proper’ elven child should look like. Her companion was similarly dressed, though far larger, and his hair was a touch duller than her own.

The boy below the hiding youth was known as Iefyr and while he was a bit of a problem Vandaris would normally have little issue avoiding him. Like most elves born in Evernight he wasn’t very keen when it came to seeking things out. Whenever an Elf wanted to find something it was simple to ask a dryad or small creature to find it for them, so when he was tasked to locate Vandaris, whenever he decided to take these little jaunts, all the lad had to do was keep his physical and magical senses open and move whenever he detected someone taking an interest in him.

Their little game of hide and seek could last for hours, until Vandaris took pity and let Iefyr ‘find’ him resting on some open rock or exposed branch. Then he would watch as Iefyr, clearly agitated to the point of rage, force himself to calmly ask if Vandaris would follow him back to the city. The journey back was usually stony with forced politeness, unless Vandris made a show of rubbing an ‘injury’ he sustained while traveling. Then Iefyr would be hard pressed to suppress his very i _ mpolite _ satisfaction, to amusing results.

(He once managed to turn purple from holding in a triumphant shout, and almost passed out from the strain.)

His sister on the other hand, she wasn’t a problem, she was an  _ issue. _ Maescia was clever, and she knew it. Once Vandaris used a trick on her she would always be on the lookout for it. Worse still, she would look for variations of the same trick as well. When hiding in a badger’s burrow, after asking him permission of course, he once saw her ask every bush, shrub, and large grouping of vines where he was within a 3 yard radius of his bolt hole. All because he hid in a small rose bush one day prior.

After he was forced back to the city that day she had made sure to ask every burrowing creature with a hole bigger than a molehill to deny him sanctuary unless in mortal danger. With him being so low in standing within his house and among his people he had no way to appeal or convince the animals to help him against her request. At least they agreed not to tell her where he was or where he went, until she figured that out too and made sure to rectify it.

It had gotten to the point where Vandaris was forced to only hide in trees now, and only those trees who were in the same boat as he was. Young pines in a disfavorable growing position, old snaggle branched oaks too set in their ways to agree to be transplanted to another grove for care, or just the simply bad tempered trees willing to house him so he’d get a rash. The only benefit to this is that there was always a chance that the tree wouldn’t rat him out to her, simply because like him they wanted to be left alone too.

_ I still do not see him, pardon my rudeness but was the information you received accurate? _

_ The doe was quite sure she saw someone come this way. _

_ She may have been mistaken. _

_ Even so, we cannot let someone so ill wander around alone. _

_ Might it be better if he was lost. _

_ Ieyfr! _

Maescia turned to stare aghast at her brother, shock painted on her features. He folded his arms in response, glaring at her defiantly.

_ You may take offense at my bluntness but it had to be said. Why are you so fixated on finding him? It is by that reason alone that we both are constantly called to this errand. _

_ He is ill, he must be cared for. _

_ Do not insult my intelligence sister, there is more to this obsession of yours. Do you wish for him to court you? _

Her disgust was an almost palpable sensation, rising off of her in waves. She sneers at her brother, her normally pleasant face a mask of anger and revulsion.  _ Do not dare suggest such a thing again! _

_ Then explain to me why. _

Vandaris leans closer down himself, for he too wanted to her her explanation. This game of hunter and hunted had been going on for weeks and his patience for it had long since waned. If her learned her reasons he might be able to find a way to either stop her from doing it again or at the very least how to avoid her attentions easier.

She pouts, clearly unwilling to voice her reasons, but in the end she concedes to her brother.  _ He speaks to no one you know. No matter what anyone tries he stays silent, I doubt even his own parents have ever heard his voice. _

_ So?  _ Ieyfr asks, one of his golden eyebrows arched.  _ We do not talk either if we can help it. It is simply more convenient to use telepathy. _

_ That’s just it brother, he doesn’t use telepathy either. As far as I’m aware Vandaris has never uttered a word to any other elf. _

_ That, is odd,  _ Ieyfr grudgingly agrees,  _ but why does it concern you? So he is silent, it will make it easier should he simply wander off and never return. _

_ Because brother mine, if I can get him to open up to me he may  _ talk.  _ Can you imagine the prestige I would get from that, from being the maiden who healed an elf who never spoke? _

Vandaris scowled, clearly annoyed and insulted. He was very fluent in the language of the animals, in the ideas that the angling of an ear or the tilting of a head could convey. He could also speak with plants in the magical fluctuations that they understood. So what if he didn’t bother to talk to elves, more often than not they had nothing interesting to say to him.

He frowned even harder as he continued to think. Maescia wouldn’t quit until she ‘cured’ him, this much was blatantly obvious. He liked the idea of her using him to raise her status not at all, but he hated the idea of her continuing to bother him even more. The only way out seemed to be talking to another elf, and just to hammer the point home he would have to use either their flowery words, which he could barely stand, or telepathy, which he absolutely  _ loathed. _

_ G-Aw-Y _

If the two elves sending before was crude then his was the equivalent of a hammer to the face. There was no subtleties here, no attempt at refinement. Just a simple mental shout raised to its highest volume.

The sibling pair jumped in surprise, heads darting left and right as they hunted for the source.

_ Did you hear that? _ Ieyfr asked, shooting his sister a worried glance.

_ Of course I heard it, it was as loud as a roaring bear! _

_ Where did it come from? _

_ I don’t know,  _ Maescia replied, narrowing her eyes in suspicion,  _ but I intend to find out. We shall spread out, you go to the east I to the west. _

_ And what of your little project? _

Maescia frowned thoughtfully.  _ You’re right, he is important, but this may be even more so. Vandaris will turn up in time, even he returns to the orphanage to sleep. _

_ When he choses to,  _ Ieyfr agreed, nodding his head.  _ Until he doesn’t anymore. _

_ What are you saying? _

_ I’m saying he’s halfway feral as it is. I wouldn’t be surprised if he winds up with those idiots in Everlight. _

His sister snorted in mirth,  _ He’s not that bad. _

_ It’s like comparing humans to dwarves,  _ Ieyfr replied,  _ both are smelly, usually drunk, stupid, and tend to hump anything they see. The only difference is one tends to be shorter than the other. _

As the two elves began to chortle below him Vandaris glared in anger. Bad enough that they were hunting him for sport and personal gain, but to compare him to a dwarf, to a human? They had to pay for such an insult.

Focusing he sent a small magical pulse into the branch that was currently supporting his weight. Sensing the situation the old oak send a similarly small pulse back at him. Closing his eyes Vandaris gained the mental picture the tree sent along with a sense of mirth and cruel glee. The old oak was long lived, somewhat bitter at the attentions the elves gave to other trees, and just a tad bit bored. The idea that Vandaris sent to it pleased it greatly, and it was happy to lend aid.

So focused on laughter the two elves didn’t even notice the shifting of the leaves above them, nor did they notice the looming shadow growing over the lush green grass at their feet. Only when the shadow touched their faces did they glance up. Their shared laughter died an ignoble death in their throats.

Looming above them, a large dead branch braced in both hands, was Vandaris. He idly waved it back and forth, letting it smack the open palm of his left hand. He was smiling, a very wide and open grin that showed almost all of his teeth.

Ieyfr, who was not very adept in the language of the animals, smiled nervously back.

Maescia, who was somewhat knowledgeable, was already running.

The last thing Ieyfr saw that day was a very close up look at all the knobs and whorls on the bark of that particular branch. While he could appreciate the artistry of the tree that grew it, he would reflect for days after that the splitting headache and the constant pain wasn’t quite worth the viewing.


End file.
